


Kissing the Unicorn and Trail of Breadcrumbs

by blackmare_9 (blackmare), Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Hallucinations, Hospital, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-11
Updated: 2007-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmare/pseuds/blackmare_9, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when you look into the abyss ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing the Unicorn and Trail of Breadcrumbs

**Author's Note:**

> A short story in two parts, both contained within this post. Many, many thanks to my First Readers, who believed in this story and kept me on track.

_**Houseficlets: _Kissing the Unicorn_ and _Trail of Breadcrumbs_**_  
 **STATUS:** Posted to [](http://house-wilson.livejournal.com/profile)[**house_wilson**](http://house-wilson.livejournal.com/) on 10/11/07.  
 **TITLE:** _Kissing the Unicorn_ , and _Trail of Breadcrumbs_  
 **AUTHORS:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/) and [](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/profile)[**blackmare_9**](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/)  
 **PAIRING:** House-Wilson, strong friendship  
 **RATING:** PG-13  
 **WARNINGS:** Mature emotional content.  
 **SPOILERS:** None.  
 **SUMMARY:** Sometimes when you look into the abyss ...  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** A short story in two parts, both contained within this post. Many, many thanks to my First Readers, who believed in this story and kept me on track.  
 **BETA: Silverjackal,** who said, "It is Important."

  
 **Kissing the Unicorn** , by [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)

 _Only the hand that erases can write the true thing._  
\-- Meister Eckhart, c. 1260 - c. 1328

Once upon a time there was an Oncologist.

He wasn't rich or famous, but he was the head of department at a prestigious East Coast teaching hospital and while he was single (again) he had plenty of nurses and other doctors of the female persuasion to choose from at said hospital. Plus he was living in a hotel, which meant he had no sheets to change, no laundry to do, and no dusting ever ever again unless he really got the urge to sniff some lemon-fresh Pledge, which, let's face it, would be kind of a weird kink. He should have been Happy.

But he wasn't.

And so one day he decided not to get out of bed. And not to answer his phone, or his pager for that matter.

And so he didn't.

 _I wonder if anyone will miss me,_ he thought, pulling the covers over his head.

* * *

The first person who knocked on the Oncologist's door was the Fair Maid.

"Excuse me, sir," she called. "I need to change the linens and towels."

The Oncologist groaned. Why hadn't he put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door handle? And then he remembered -- it was because he wasn't getting out of bed.

"Thank you, Maria," he called (because he knew all the Maids' names by now). "I don't need any new linens or towels."

"Sir, are you all right?" the Fair Maid asked. She had come to like the sad Doctor who lived in Room 228. He reminded her of her Brother, but she pushed that thought away. "Can I get you anything?"

Inside the room, the Oncologist cursed. He struggled for an explanation that would keep her away.

"I'm ... sick," he called. "Uh ... _soy infirma ... infirmo_ ... sick. Contagious. Er ... _contagio_." The Oncologist cursed again at his inadequate knowledge of Spanish.

There was no further word from the Fair Maid, nor did she knock again.

The Oncologist went back to sleep.

* * *

The second person who knocked on the Oncologist's door was another Fair Maiden. Or so he thought at first. He didn't hear her knock, so he didn't know that until she started shouting.

"I know you're in there," she was yelling.

The Oncologist rolled over and blinked at the ceiling. The ceiling blinked back. Except of course it didn't, because if it _had_ , then that would have meant he was having Hallucinations, and that would've meant ... well, he didn't want to think about what that would have meant.

So he didn't.

"Wilson! Open up!"

It wasn't a Fair Maiden. It was his Boss.

"He's not here," the Oncologist yelled back, and there was a short silence. He rolled back onto his side and buried his face in the pillow.

"Wilson? Is something wrong?" The voice was quieter now, with an undercurrent of something the Oncologist couldn't quite identify.

The Oncologist considered this question for a moment. He guessed he could respond to it, just to be polite, even if it wasn't addressed to him. _Was_ there something wrong? After a while (he wasn't sure how long) the answer came to him.

But it was already too late; his Boss had gone away, and when there was no response to his call he closed his eyes again.

* * *

The third person who knocked on the Oncologist's door was _definitely_ a Fair Maiden. He knew this for a fact because she used a pilfered cardkey, artfully obtained with her Feminine Wiles, to let herself into the room. And she wasn't alone.

It was the Innocent Youth's knocking over a lamp which actually awakened the Oncologist, and once he was able to focus his eyes he saw that the Fair Maiden was accompanied by her retinue -- the aforementioned Innocent Youth and his boon companion, the Treacherous Wizard.

The Oncologist groaned. _Why do things always happen to me in Threes?_ he wondered.

"How did you get in here?" he asked. The Fair Maiden opened her mouth to speak, but the Oncologist forestalled it. "Let me guess," he said. "You talked the front desk into giving you another key because you told them you were one of my Ex-Wives. My Sister. My Long-Lost Cousin From East Lansing."

The Oncologist didn't really know anyone from East Lansing, and he could tell the Fair Maiden didn't realize the Significance of his words, but that didn't really matter because the Maiden was going to say her piece no matter what.

"What do you mean, Dr. Wilson?" she said, and the Oncologist winced. There was that Name again.

"Are you all right? We're worried about you."

"I'm fine," he said, gathering his bedclothes about him and striving to preserve some of his Dignity. "I'm just ... tired."

"Dr. Wilson," the Innocent Youth said. His voice was very sincere. "House is worried about you."

"Who?" the Oncologist asked. He knew instantly by the expressions on their faces that he'd said the Wrong Thing. Well, that was just too bad. He was damn tired of saying the Right Thing all the time, especially when the Right Thing was a Terminal Diagnosis for a three-year-old. Or a forty-eight-year-old. Or a sixty-year-old. Hell, even a ninety-nine-year-old. He was still damn tired of it, and so he was going to do what all his Terminal Patients did, and that was Sleep.

* * *

Now oftentimes in stories like this a sleeping Prince (or Princess, as the case may be) is awakened by the chaste Kiss of his or her True Love.

This isn't one of those stories.

* * *

"Wilson!"

Someone was knocking -- no, _hammering_ \-- on the Oncologist's door, with what sounded like a large wooden club.

 _It is a Giant,_ thought the Oncologist, _come to grind my bones to make his bread._ And he ducked his Head back under the Blankets. After a moment the hammering stopped, and the Oncologist sighed in relief.

Then the door opened.

"Wilson! What the hell are you doing in here? God, you're such an Eeyore!"

The Oncologist sighed again, this time in Despair. He had been Found Out. It was All Over.

"Wilson?"

"Go away," the Oncologist said. His voice was muffled by the Blankets, though, and provided a convenient excuse for his Visitor to Pretend not to have heard it.

"Wilson, come on. Get up." Something prodded at the Oncologist's left foot, and reluctantly he poked his Head out from beneath the Blankets. He blinked owlishly at the Unicorn in his room.

"Go away," he said again.

The Unicorn stared at him. Its eyes were a particularly piercing shade of blue, and it cocked its head, looking at him sidewise. Its horn, a long spiral of yellowed ivory, nudged at the Oncologist's foot once more.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

"I am perfectly fine," the Oncologist asserted. "Or I _would_ be, if I could just get some Sleep."

"So you're tired," the Unicorn said.

"Didn't I just say that?"

"How long have you felt like this?" the Unicorn persisted.

"Long enough. Now will you please just go away?" To illustrate his Earnest Desire, the Oncologist sat up, fluffed his pillow, turned it over to the cool side, and lay back down.

"Uh _huh_." There was an Undeniable Note of Skepticism in the Unicorn's Voice, but the Oncologist ignored it. "You told Chase you didn't know me."

"That's ridiculous," the Oncologist said. "Of course I know you." He rubbed at his Eyes with one Hand -- why couldn't Everyone just Leave Him Alone?

The Unicorn waited patiently.

"You're the Unicorn."

The Unicorn stared at him, and for just a Moment it seemed as if the Creature's long Horse-face grew shorter and rounder, changing as Melted Wax on a Candle Stub, and assumed Human Form. The Oncologist squeezed his Eyes shut, and when he Opened them again, the Hallucination was gone, and It was the Unicorn again.

"I'm a Unicorn," the Unicorn said.

 _Circuitous,_ the Oncologist thought. _Trying to trap me within its Labyrinth._ Nevertheless, he Answered the Beast.

"Yes."

"And you are ... "

"The Oncologist."

"Your name is James Wilson," the Unicorn said, and the Room whirled in Bright Colors and Discordant Music jangled, and the Oncologist clutched at his Head to Ward off the Dizziness.

"There is no one here by that name," he shouted.

And after that there was much Confusion, and more Shouting, and a troop of the Unicorn's Loyal Guard, clad in their Traditional White Surcoats, stormed into the Room, grabbed the struggling Oncologist, and bore him Away.

* * *

After that the Oncologist wandered for a long time in a dark forest. When he found his way out at last he was as a new-born babe.

* * *

It's calm and peaceful here in the hospital, and that's good.

He knows his name now, and while that should be a comfort, somehow it's not.

He knows, too, that the people who visit him every week are his friends, but when they smile at him he can see the sorrow and the sadness in their eyes.

They tell him he's getting better, and some days he believes them and some days he's not so sure.

What he does look forward to are the days the Unicorn comes to visit. The Unicorn calls him Jimmy, which he likes, and tells him stories of the other hospital, the place where he used to work. He likes that too. He doesn't have to tell anyone they're going to die, and he doesn't have to take care of anyone ever again.

But the best part is when the Unicorn bows its head, and allows Jimmy to gently stroke its coarse, short-shorn hair.

  
 **Trail of Breadcrumbs** , by [](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/profile)[**blackmare_9**](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/)

  
The day will come, eventually, when the Unicorn will bow its head and Jimmy will embrace it, feel the warm hair beneath his hand, and --

\-- and the pain will rise up from the soles of his feet, flooding him until he weeps, his face buried in the Unicorn's mane. And he will cry for all the ones he couldn't save, and for himself, and for every time he didn't cry before; and it will be strange to feel the Unicorn embrace him as if it were human. Almost as if it were his Friend. Not just any friend, but the Friend he loved best, who went away one year at Christmas and never came back.

Strange thing about that; his Friend used to call him Jimmy, too, sometimes. Not often enough.

Strange thing about that; he loves the Unicorn like he loved his Friend, and now he can cry for his Friend as well because he couldn't hold on and couldn't save him either. These are all the things that _Jimmy_ will remember, all the things he will think of, on that day.

So he'll tell the Unicorn that he loves him, loves him like he loved his dear Friend that he lost. And when the Unicorn says to him, _Jimmy, close your eyes,_ Jimmy will do it, because he trusts the Unicorn. There is no one else he trusts that way, not even himself.

With his eyes closed, he will feel a big, callused hand take his hand and place it on a very human face, rough with unshaven stubble, so unlike the soft Unicorn muzzle. It will seem so odd, so strange that Jimmy won't know what to do. Not at first, not that time and maybe not the next time, the next day, when the Unicorn will come back and do it again. _It's all right,_ the Unicorn will tell him. _Trust me. Close your eyes._ And Jimmy will.

Jimmy will, because when his eyes are closed and he feels that warmth surround him, he will think that his Friend never hugged him like that, nor did he ever hug his Friend. Yet the embrace will feel very familiar, as if it's something he recalls from long before.

He will wonder whether his Friend comes here, somehow, every time the Unicorn comes.

On the third day, the Unicorn will walk in with a limp, and Jimmy will begin to know -- to really know -- that the two are one.


End file.
